Perlstein could not have cared less. He drained the rest of the drink and motioned for her to leave first. Just as her hand grabbed the doorknob, she felt his hands on her waist. Hannah tensed at this violation and almost spun around until he said, “I just needed to make sure you didn’t bring that handgun you have hidden in your kitchen with you. No weapons are allowed on my airplane.”
As he frisked her entire body, lingering a bit too long on her inner thighs, Hannah gritted her teeth and looked straight ahead. Then he took the purse from her hands and searched through its contents.
“You can go,” he said, handing the bag back to her.
She flashed him an icy glare and opened the door. As she carried her suitcase down the steps, the only thing Hannah could think about was that nothing would please her more than putting a bullet in Efraim Perlstein’s head.
Chapter 20
Wild Dunes
Island of Palms, South Carolina
August 28th, 7:44pm
“I’ve got him,” Neil announced, turning every head in the room.
The tech genius had been on the hunt for Chance Baxter all afternoon. One of The Jefferson Group warriors had said early on that it was nearly impossible for a billionaire to disappear. They had too many responsibilities and too many ties to the world.
They’d gotten the lowdown on their suspect minutes after Neil discovered the identity of the super-yacht, Nightshade. Baxter’s wealth stretched back many generations. It was stated that his family was one of the oldest families without title. There were no lords or ladies residing in the Baxter family tree. From what Neil could find, the billionaire traced his lineage to the 16th century, during the time of Queen Elizabeth I. The Baxter family often touted the exploits of their most distant relative, an apprentice shipbuilder named William Baxter who was working for Sir Francis Drake, the famous English hero who broke the Spanish Armada in 1588.
It was said that William Baxter concocted the plan and executed the English fire ship attack that sent the Spanish Armada running during the Second Battle of Gravelines which would later lead to its final defeat.
William Baxter was given neither a title of nobility nor land for his part in the English victory but he was given the title of master shipbuilder. Instead, he would stand at Sir Francis Drake’s right hand until the vice admiral's death in 1596. It was Drake, known as a privateer to his own people but as a pirate to the Spanish, who introduced Baxter to the slave trade.
After Drake’s death, William and his sons expanded their empire until they were a direct competitor of the East India Company in everything ranging from grain to opium. It was also rumored that the English monarchy secretly used the Baxter organization to crush the East India Company when the monopolistic behemoth became too powerful.
From what Neil had told them, the Baxters knew how to stay out of the spotlight. For centuries they’d managed to do so, and within the last hundred years they had paid reparations for their part in the slave trade. On the surface, they seemed like a merchant family who’d toiled against the elite and sometimes with them in order to build a brand that had lasted for almost five hundred years.
There had been the occasional transgression by the younger Baxters, a DUI here or an alleged assault there, but for the rest their records appeared clean. Every Baxter subsidiary was involved in the community, gave money to all British political parties, and donated time, energy and resources to charities around the globe.
On paper, Chance Baxter looked the spitting image of his long-dead ancestor, William Baxter. He graduated from a middle-of-the-road university with a degree in engineering. He’d gone to work for his father after college and spent many years toiling in most of the Baxter subsidiaries. To Cal, the guy who appeared on paper looked like what a billionaire should be. He was a hard worker who’d taken the time to learn the business from the bottom up prior to assuming the reins.
“He’s in the Bahamas,” Neil said, looking back and forth furtively between computer screens.
“How did you find him?” Cal asked.
Neil sniffed. “You don’t want to know.”
He was right. Cal didn’t want to know. He’d learned a long time ago that the things Neil did to track down money, information and people were rarely legal. Sometimes it made Cal wonder what would happen if a guy with the skills that Neil possessed, but one lacking the moral compass and ethics, were let loose on the world. All the top brass were discussing national security concerns in the face of cyber attacks on American systems. It would not be much of a stretch to then consider the ramifications of people or countries to use cyber technology to either interrupt or disable communications networks or electrical grids.
“Where is he, exactly?” Cal asked.
“He owns an island just north of Grand Bahama. It’s called Great Sale Cay and it is about 370 acres. He has a compound and small marina. It’s all here in the interview he did with Inc. magazine.”
Cal looked over Neil’s shoulder and skimmed the article. It was a typical “This Is How This Billionaire Lives” piece. There were five pictures, one of Baxter holding up some kind of fish, his smile wide but practiced. This guy’s used to the cameras, Cal thought.
“Have you gotten anything else from Maya’s files?” Cal asked.
“Nada.”
It didn’t feel right. Why would Hannah Krygier deliver the random notes to Maya if they couldn’t use them? The only thing that had come to fruition was the image of the super-yacht but even that didn’t tell them about what they were up against. Hell, Chance Baxter looked like a saint compared to most of the scumbags the men in the room had dealt with over the years. Still, it was the only breadcrumb they had discovered.
“Jonas,” Cal said, getting their CEO’s attention. “How hard would it be for you to get an introduction to this guy?”
“Are you thinking for you or me?” Jonas Layton asked, humor lacing the words.
“I was thinking we could come up with some story about how you’d like to meet him regarding a project you’re working on. You billionaires all know each other, right?”
There were chuckles from the other men and Jonas rolled his eyes.
“It’s not that easy, Cal. I don’t even know the guy.”
“But you could come up with something?”
Jonas thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Let me get in touch with one of my assistants in charge of setting up that sort of introduction.”
Cal nodded and turned back to Neil.
“Get me everything you can on that island and whatever else Baxter owns in the area.”
“Okay. What about his yachts?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want to know where his yachts are too?”
“How many yachts does he have?” Cal asked, incredulously.
Neil counted from a list on his screen.
“Twenty-three.”
Trent whistled. “Maybe Jonas should let me have the introduction.”
Cal ignored him.
“Yes, get me the information on all his assets in and around the Bahamas.”
“That could take some time. He’s got property scattered under a plethora of different entities,” Neil said.
“Do your best.”
Neil clicked his teeth together and got back to work.
Cal decided that things were well in hand for the moment. He needed time to think, to step back and examine the pieces of the puzzle. He figured a walk would do him some good, so he told the others where he was going and he stepped outside.
When he got to the street, a car was just pulling up to the end of the cul-de-sac. The driver’s window rolled down revealing Todd Dunn.
“You got a minute?” Dunn asked.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Did you hear about Marge?”
“She texted me. Congrats on the pay raise. You cool with it?” Cal asked.
Dunn shrugged. “She’s been dropping me subtle hints for months. I figure
d it might happen.”
People who didn’t know Todd Dunn, whose official title had been Head of Internal Security at SSI for years, thought that the former Ranger was just another muscle-bound meathead. Cal and his friends knew better. Since he’d arrived at SSI, first under Travis and then under Marge Haines, Dunn had been much more than a security guard. He knew every secret and protected it with the intensity of a Doberman. He was also much smarter than he ever let on. The MBA he’d earned while going to school after hours was only one such indication of his intelligence. In short, Cal knew Dunn was more than capable of running SSI.
“If it means anything to you, I think you’re the right man for the job,” Cal said. He was more than happy that Dunn was taking over the Stokes' family business.
“Thanks.”
“You heading back tonight?”
“Yeah, but I’ve got something for you. It’s in the back.”
Dunn stepped out of the small SUV and popped open the rear hatch. Cal heard what sounded like metal on metal and then he saw Dunn reach into the back. He pulled something out and set it on the ground.
“Go ahead,” Dunn said to the ground.
Cal cocked an eyebrow in confusion. A second later a chocolate brown dog with white- ticked legs walked around the car. Cal didn’t know a thing about dogs but he knew she was just a puppy. Then, to Cal’s astonishment the dog took a seat and stared directly in his eyes, waiting for his command.
“You got a dog?” Cal asked.
“She’s not mine.”
“What breed is she?”
“She’s a German Shorthaired Pointer,” Dunn said.
The dog hadn’t moved. It was still gazing intently at Cal.
“And she belongs to —?”
Dunn hesitated and then said, “Travis had an order in with a breeder up in Indiana. I didn’t know about it until the guys called SSI requesting final payment.”
Cal gulped. The dog, as if sensing his unease, held out a paw. Cal bent down to get a better look at the beautiful pointer and he took the extended paw. The dog licked his hand once and then looked up at him again. There was an ease there, like an older dog trapped in a puppy's body. Cal wondered if all dogs were that brilliant and well-behaved, or if Dunn had trained her that way. He stroked her head, feeling the velvety fur under his fingers. It was just the kind of dog Travis would want. Trav loved to hunt, and he’d always wanted a bird dog. Cal pictured his cousin sitting by a fire, the dog curled up at his feet while he sipped a glass of Jack Daniels, his belly full of whatever they’d got that day. He gulped again, his newfound emotions bubbling to the surface.
“What are you going to do with her?” he asked.
“Travis left everything to you.”
It took Cal a couple beats to realize what Dunn was saying.
“You want me to take her?” But even as he asked the question and looked into the dog's eyes, Cal knew he would. Still stunned he continued, “What did you name her?”
“I didn’t. Travis did.”
Cal’s mouth felt dry. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dog.
“What’s her name, Dunn?”
After a moment, Dunn said, “Liberty. He named her Liberty.”
Cal stared at the dog as if it might bring him closer to understanding his cousin’s death. There was no answer there but there was something else. What was it? He realized it a split second later. The dog was a piece of Travis, like an extension of his cousin’s life, and a treasure left behind that Travis knew Cal needed.
Cal smiled and the dog cocked its head as if studying him. This time she moved in close, slithering in under his arm, leaning against him like she needed his body heat. Cal stroked her back and said, “Liberty; I like that.”
The only response he got back from the dog was a soft happy whine and the wag of her tail.
Chapter 21
Great Sale Cay
The Bahamas
August 28th, 8:31pm
“Thank you for the update, Doctor. I hope I did not keep you too long.” Chance Baxter wiped his mouth before refolding the cloth napkin, setting it on the table.
“I am happy to answer any questions you might have, Mr. Baxter,” Dr. Aviel Nahas replied. He could feel the white wine going to his head. There was still work do be done that night, but part of him wanted to stay and talk to his host. “If I may say, Mr. Baxter, it has been a pleasure to work with someone who not only cares for my work, but also has gone to such extremes to ensure I am well taken care of. The laboratory alone must have cost…”
“Do not worry about the cost, Doctor. Your research and development are well worth the modest investment. Perhaps once we have concluded this particular project we can talk about your future with us.”
“I would like that very much, Mr. Baxter. Thank you.”
Baxter smiled and rose from the table. “Now, if you will excuse me, there are certain matters that I must attend to. Please let me know if there is anything you need.”
He was gone from the room before Dr. Nahas could properly stand up from his chair. The Israeli inventor watched his new benefactor depart. He was in awe of the man really. How could he not be? Baxter genuinely cared about Nahas’s work and had even proposed his own ideas in the most diplomatic way possible. He listened. Nahas had never worked for such a man. One word came to mind when he tried to describe the billionaire - benevolent.
It was easy to try to please such a man, a man whose family had done such great things over the centuries. Nahas had known some of the Baxter family history, but his host had filled in the details. There was no bravado in Baxter’s retelling only the fond pride a good man has for his ancestors.
The Israeli smiled at the thought. He felt fortunate to be working for a man like Baxter. Nahas hoped that boded well for his own future within the Baxter organization, as well as for the success of his current undertaking.
+++
Chance Baxter was pleased. Not only was Dr. Nahas ahead of schedule, but also he’d improved on his concept. Baxter watched as the updated software and schematics left his outbox and sped out to the intended recipients. He’d meant every word he’d uttered to Nahas. It was a pleasure to work with an innovator whose mind knew no bounds. Given the right tools, time, and resources, Nahas could become one of his greatest assets.
After he’d initially apologized for the abrupt departure from Israel, Baxter soothed Nahas with promises of unlimited funding. But it was what he’d uncovered in their first conversation that really made all the difference. It became painfully obvious to Baxter that Nahas wanted one thing - recognition. He might not know the breadth of what he was building until the very end, if at all, but Baxter would wrap him in praise and boost the inventor’s self-worth until Nahas was ready to burst with well-earned pride.
It was one of the many ways Chance Baxter had secured his company for the modern age. He had an eye for talent and a gift for solemn flattery. Men like Nahas melted under the praise of men like Baxter. It remained to be seen whether Nahas would grasp the value of their mission but that could wait. He didn’t have to know the whole picture to complete his task. After all, compartmentalization was the way of the world now. It was “need to know,” as they say in the movies.
When the message signaling the successful transmission appeared on his screen, Chance Baxter closed the browser and made his way downstairs. His staff said the helicopter had just left. A new shipment had been delivered – ah, a new traitor to enjoy. He’d read the report, and the man knew little. He was a simple saboteur who’d been caught red-handed. It might have been easier for the vessel’s captain to dispose of the man, but Baxter’s instructions had been clear.
Baxter smiled when he saw the sealed white cooler at the entrance to the hallway leading to his secret chamber. His house manager, George, was standing next to the package, ever the dutiful employee.
“Would you like help pushing the cooler, Mr. Baxter?”
“Thank you, George, but I think I can manage.”
Less than a minute later, Baxter was inside his soundproof room. He took his time changing, this time opting to go with a set of swim trunks and no shirt. It was messy work and he did hate to spoil good clothing.
When he’d finished depositing his dinner clothes in the plastic bag George had left on top of the locked cooler, Baxter carefully entered the combinations for the two locks on the side of the container. The pressure seal popped open with very little effort and Baxter was greeted with the familiar smell of fear. It might have been repugnant to most but the odor aroused Baxter’s senses. His arousal increased all the more when he looked into the cooler and saw the frightened eyes of his newest guest. The man was strapped to the bottom and his nose and mouth were covered with a clear mask with tubes winding down to the twin oxygen tanks at the man’s side.
Baxter lifted the mask from the man’s face.
“What are you…?”
Baxter put a finger to his own mouth and said, “Shh. We don’t want to wake the sharks yet.”
+++
Off the coast of Cabo San Lucas, Mexico
9:01pm
As the chief steward of the mega-yacht, Suprema, it was Jeanette Locke’s job to keep the guests happy. She was very good at her job or she would have been fired long ago. Catering to the upper crust of society took both patience and an eye for detail. It also required utmost discretion, which her current captain harped on regularly.
“Our guests pay for our silence,” he would say. “Let us prove to them the crew of Suprema understands that need.”
But it wasn’t the guests that had Jeanette on edge or her never-ending duties as chief steward. What concerned Jeanette most was what was happening in the bowels of the yacht. To the untrained eye, the new crew members appeared to be your run-of-the mill yacht enthusiasts, but there was something about them that only amplified Jeanette’s unease. It appeared there were now two separate crews on the yacht ; one crew cared for the guests and the other crew's mission was yet unknown. She was aware of them working odd hours in the secure cargo hold, and their mission was off limits to even the captain of the yacht.
The Zimmer Doctrine (Corps Justice Book 11) Page 10